She Didn't Understand
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: Silly girl. She really didn't understand anything about him at all. Written for the Last Ship Standing Competition on the HPFC Forum.


Author's Notes: Written for the fifth and final round of the Last Ship Standing Competition, with the prompts _adoration, kissing_ and _"You know you've fallen in love when you can't get to sleep, because reality is finally better than your dreams"_.

)O(

The Dark Lord had assured Bellatrix in the early days of her work for him that she would be rewarded richly for work well done, and though it had never been said in so many words, it had been his understanding as much as hers that there would come a time when he would go to bed with her. He considered it a responsibility, one that he would have to fulfil someday but looked forward to with no more excitement than he looked forward to giving more mundane rewards such as money, protection, or an enemy's head on a plate.

Bellatrix, by contrast, thought of it constantly and with relish. Too often, while sitting in a meeting, he had probed into her mind only to come face-to-face with some lurid fantasy involving himself and being unable to prevent a blush – or _other_ reactions.

Let her have her pleasure, he thought. As long as it didn't interfere with her work, he didn't begrudge her fantasies. She was one of his most effective followers; what did it matter if she harboured unrealistic lusts? He allowed her privacy to enjoy her fantasies.

Would that it had never gone further than her having fantasies. He managed to keep her happy for years with the same little gifts and rewards that he gave the rest of his Death Eaters when they served him well, but as time continued to progress, he became acutely aware of impatience about her. He caught her gazing openly at him with her breast rising and falling quickly – _panting_ over him like a dog.

Frustration in one so close to him was not a matter to be ignored lightly. It was only a matter of time before she became too busy with her pining for him to continue to be an effective Death Eater, and he simply couldn't allow that to happen.

He had never seen anyone look so happy as Bellatrix did when, after a meeting, he caught her arm and whispered, "My bedroom." She seemed to light up with pleasure, and she all but bounded up the stairs to his private room. It was entertaining in a way – she was childlike in her delight.

"You've been waiting for this," he observed, and didn't wait for an answer before pressing her against the wall and kissing her. She writhed against him, caught at him, moaned for him. Any other man would have been pleased to have such a beautiful woman so desperate for him. The Dark Lord let his mind wander.

"My Lord- my Lord–" Bellatrix mumbled against his lips. "My Lord, please- please take me- I want you ever so…"

"I know." He ran his hand idly across the curve of her breast, and she shuddered pleasingly against him. With an edge in his voice, he added, "You've made your desires very clear, I assure you."

Bellatrix pulled back, and a slight flush coloured her pallid cheeks. "Do you not want me this way, my Lord? Am I being too- too forward?"

Her contrite manner pleased him. He could sense her sudden nervousness, the depth of her shame, much more than she was showing him. He had humiliated her, broken her sense of security. Good.

"Get on the bed," he told her, by way of an answer (meaning _not so much that I won't still have you_), and Bellatrix hurried to obey. Was she too blind with adoration to see how she bored him, or was she so desperate that she didn't care? She certainly was desperate, hurrying to arrange herself on the bed with her hands hovering over her own breasts, her fingers just resting on the fabric so she might tear her dress off in a second.

He undressed, and tried to ignore the obscene way she stared at him while he removed his robes. He could practically smell her lust when he had slipped them off and stood full naked before her. A little whimper escaped her lips.

"Master, you are beautiful," she whispered, with greater desire than with awe.

He did not respond. There was nothing to be said. This whole matter had been a mistake, and now, he would simply have to be done with it as quickly as possible.

"Undress, Bellatrix," he told her, and the words were no sooner out of his mouth than she was out of her dress her thighs were parted, her breast heaving with every deep breath she took.

He lay between her legs, and held her in place, an action that she clearly took as an expression of dominance, though he only did it to keep her from moving around and making herself difficult to penetrate.

She moaned when he took her, her head flung back, her eyes closed and her lips parted. But the way she quivered, the way she arched and bucked wasn't for pleasure, but for anticipation.

_Anticipation_, as if she thought she deserved something more–!

He rocked against her, firmly and almost mechanically, and without asking for his permission, she twined her arms about his neck, bringing him closer to her so that she might whisper in his ear.

"Aren't you going to be rough?" she murmured, a catch in her voice. "Aren't you going to hurt me?"

It took him a moment to realize that she was being earnest. The immediate question that came to mind – _What for? This is your reward; pain is for punishment_ – he dismissed upon reminding himself that this was, after all, _Bellatrix_, whose ideas of pain and pleasure were so tied up in each other that he doubted she knew them apart anymore. But the second question that came to mind, he did ask.

"Why would I do that?"

Bellatrix's eyes opened fully and she went slightly stiff underneath him.

"I- won't you?"

"No, I most certainly will not."

"O- oh." She looked quite mortified. "I- I only thought- I thought you would enjoy that- that sort of thing."

How infuriating. He might have stood and left then, so sharp was the insult. Bellatrix didn't want _him_. She wanted her fantasy of him. If she really wanted _him_ – and if she had any sort of idea of what sort of person _he_ was, which she should have, after so long spent in _his_ company, she would know that he was certainly not the type to enjoy "that sort of thing". She wanted the powerful, dominant man that she had dreamed about, the man who would pin her in place and fuck her until she screamed his name, and then slump atop her, breathing heavily and clinging to her possessively. Bellatrix really believed that that would be what he would do in bed with her – that he would miraculously transform from a controlled, disciplined man into some sort of sex-hungry animal as soon as she spread her legs for him. Perhaps, from her vantage, it only made sense that a man so powerful in all matters would be a powerful lover as well.

The Dark Lord was not a powerful lover. Sex disinterested him at the best of times, revolted him at the worst. In his youth, before he had really understood himself or the world around him, he had sat in bed – curtains drawn and silencing spells in place – with a magazine stolen from some other boy, and he had tried to see what was so gripping about the pictures. The poorly proportioned women were laughable to him, and the muscular, over-endowed men were hardly any better. Poses surely meant to be provocative left him puzzling over the images, trying to work out what anyone could find pleasing about them, and any depictions of the act itself looked awkward, uncomfortable and unpleasant for both parties. Seeing a look of pain on a woman's face did please him slightly, but by the time he had examined enough pictures to be aware of that preference, he was well-versed in spells that were much more effective at summoning looks of pain. And so he had come to the conclusion that sex was a diversion taken by uninspired people because they had nothing better to do, and he had put the matter aside as best he could.

He bothered to increase his pace, which seemed to please her, but he shrugged her arms away when she tried to embrace him, which she seemed to ignore. She kissed him fervently, feverishly, as if unaware of how stiff and unresponsive he was.

It was a pitiful thing, really, and all wrong. She would have been better off with her husband, who he had no doubt would have been happier to be rough and hurt her, passionate man that Rodolphus was. In any case, married women should not be so desperate for the attention of another man. He would probe Rodolphus's thoughts later, to find whether Bellatrix was as passionate with him. Somehow, he doubted it.

Bellatrix moaned and scrabbled at him with her nails. "My Lord, _my Lord!_"

He didn't make a sound when he released into her, barely acknowledged it at all, except to let a slow, shuddering sigh out from between gritted teeth. Bellatrix writhed through her orgasm, clutching and thrusting wantonly against him, and when she finally went limp and lay shuddering underneath him, he sat up and moved away.

"Sleep," he told her firmly. He intended it to be an order, but Bellatrix didn't seem to take it as such, for she only nestled closer to him. Her body was too hot against his.

"I can't," she murmured.

"Why not?"

Bellatrix touched his cheek and he resisted the urge to push her hand away with revulsion.

"Because I'm _here_. With _you_. My Lord…" She smoothed her thumb across his cheek below his eye. "Why would I sleep like _this_- when reality is so much better than my dreams?"

Ever romantic. He nearly rolled his eyes at her. He closed them momentarily to gather himself so he would not snap at her.

"Don't sleep, then," he said, and disguised his impatience as best he could before lying down rather stiffly beside her. He stared at the ceiling, and didn't move when she nestled against his side – not even to lift his arm so that it could rest around her shoulder or on the pillow instead of being trapped under her. Bellatrix seemed unaware of any sort of discomfort; indeed, if her gentle sighing was anything to go by, she seemed shockingly well-suited to the position she was in.

Silly girl.

She really didn't understand anything about him at all.

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
